Dax: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Mob Daddies Book 4)

by Alexa Hart

  I mumble into his chest, “I’m only letting you be nice to me because I’m really upset right now. You are still a jerk who left without saying goodbye.”

  “Duly noted,” he nods and gently peels me from his chest leading me to the same kitchen chair where we only recently had sex. I blush as I sit down and the smirk on his face says that he knows exactly where my mind has gone. Apparently, even in crisis-mode, my body still stays laser-focused on his.

  “How about a drink?” He asks, opening a cupboard. “Carl will take a look around.”

  “Who is Carl?” I ask.

  “He’s a member of my team,” the man says. He nods at Carl and Carl begins to move around the apartment, investigating and looking at the damage.

  “I...um….tossed the rest of the bourbon,” I say. He raises an eyebrow. “And I didn’t take you as a team player,” I say. “More of a lone wolf. You seem to like to come and go as you please.”

  The man sits down next to me and focuses his gaze directly at me. His eyes, often hard and cold, always look at me with warmth.

  “I’m the boss of the team. So, we’re both right I guess,” he says.

  “So you’re like a wolf boss?” I ask. “Since I don’t know your name, is that what I should call you? Wolf Boss,” I smile at my lame joke. Then something dawns on me. “Wait. You knew my name?”

  “I did.”

  I look at him in expectation but he neither explains nor offers his own name in response. “So you aren’t going to tell me yours? Are you...” I glance at his hand but don’t see a wedding ring. Men are clever though. “Are you married? Please tell me you didn’t turn me into an adulterer. That is so not my scene.”

  He frowns. “Not married. Anymore,” he shrugs. “Widowed.”

  “Oh,” I say. I reach out and squeeze his hand. “I’m really sorry.”

  He extracts his hand from mine, but not before Carl sees us. Carl gives him a nod and the two of them step outside the apartment and talk in low whispers. When they come back in, they seem much more focused.

  “You’re going to need to come with us, Hannah,” the man says. “Neither of us think you’re safe here.”

  “Um, while I agree with your general assessment of non-safeness, I’m not going anywhere with you. I’ll call my friend Kiki. And the police, obviously.”

  “No police,” the man says.

  “What is with you and authority figures?” I growl. “I got robbed. I’m calling the police.”

  “This wasn’t a robbery,” the man says. “They left jewelry and cash. No. This was a message.”

  For a moment I consider my father. We haven’t spoken since my mother’s death, but it’s not like we had a great relationship before that. He is easily the biggest scumbag I know, but I don’t think he would stoop this low just because I refuse to speak to him.

  “That doesn’t make sense. If they were sending a message, then what, pray tell, were they trying to tell me?” I ask, hands on my hips. “What, just that they are mean idiots who don’t like art?!”

  “The message wasn’t for you,” he frowns. He glances back at the man in the sunglasses. “We think the message was intended for me. I’m afraid someone might think you are valuable to me.”

  “Ha,” I laugh angrily. I’ve forgotten all the warmth of a moment before because this man is infuriating. What kind of ego must he have to jump to that conclusion? “You should have told them how you snuck out of here while I was asleep and before I even knew your name, which I still don’t because you are either super dense or just a world-class asshole. Maybe both. That’s not exactly the way one usually treats a coveted treasure.”

  “I left that way because I didn’t want you to be in danger,” he growls back at me.

  “So it was for my benefit?” I laugh and step closer, glaring up at him. “How chivalrous.”

  Carl clears his throat and we both snap out of it, realizing how dangerously close we are to each other. I know my anger at him is just masking the fear I feel about the break-in and the fear I feel about him. A need I’m not quite ready to admit I have. I’m as scared to leave with him as I am for him to disappear again, whenever he decides to. I take a step back.

  “Who the hell are you to make people want to threaten you like this anyway?” I ask. “And I’ve known some important people so I’m not a total idiot when it comes to power games.”

  Carl nods at the man again and points to his watch. “We should hurry, sir.”

  “Right.” He turns back to me, ignoring my earlier protests. “Pack up a bag and let’s go,” he says in a cool, professional tone that tells me he is used to getting what he wants. “I’ve got someone I need to meet and she hates when I’m late.”

  Unbelievable! I swallow down my anger. “While I don’t want to cramp your healthy dating life, I’m not so good at taking orders,” I say. I sit down on a kitchen chair, cross my arms, and refuse to move. I know I’m acting like a child, but I honestly have no idea what to do. Samson just whimpers.

  “Hannah, enough. I don’t have time for games. You aren’t safe here,” he says. “That should be obvious.”

  “What’s obvious is that I am not safe with you!” I growl back. “And you won’t even tell me your name. You are the one playing games.” I turn to Carl. “Carl, let me ask you, as a security professional, how wise would it be for me to just pack a bag and take off with you two without even knowing this man’s name? Without even knowing if either of you can be trusted? That feels as obviously foolish as staying in this apartment after finding it ransacked. In your professional opinion, is that what you think I should do, Carl?”

  Carl glances at the man. I continue, “Don’t worry about your boss. This is purely hypothetical. I’m asking for a friend who recently made the bad decision to rescue an injured man from near death in a dark alley.”

  Carl clears his throat and turns to the man, who is looking downright pissed. I have a small glint of satisfaction at getting under his skin as much as he gets under mine.

  “Okay,” the man says through gritted teeth. “If I tell you who I am, will you come with me so we can keep you safe?”

  “Depends on who you are,” I say. “We still haven’t ruled out the possibility that you’re a serial killer.”

  Carl chuckles. “She really doesn’t know?”

  “Know what?” I ask.

  The man pulls out a phone and types something in before handing it to me. “I’d show you my driver’s license, but whoever attacked me that night also stole my wallet,” he says. “Probably the same dirtbag who tossed your apartment.”

  I scroll through the phone. He’s pulled up a search for Dax Hardin. “So what?” I say. “You work for Dax Hardin? Guess what, technically so do I! So does half of Boston!”

  “Hit the image button,” he growls.

  I do. As the grid of images pops up on the screen, every one of them of the same handsome man who also happens to be glaring down at me, I nearly drop the phone. As I scroll through the pictures, I begin to make the connections. He showed up once looking like a local and showed up this time with a security detail and an expensive suit. A bad boy who made good.

  He takes the phone from my hand and looks me in the eyes. They are piercing and honest and strangely vulnerable like he is worried about what I’ll think of him now. I understand. If I told him that I’m Charles Finch’s daughter, especially now that I know he’s Dax Hardin, I’d be giving him the same look.

  I don’t want this man to hate me. I’ve heard what he does to his enemies.

  He clears his throat. “You get it now? I don’t work for Dax Hardin. I am Dax Hardin. Now you know why you’re in trouble. And why I’m the only one who can keep you safe.”

  Chapter 9

  Hannah

  As we pile into the car, my mind keeps turning the same thought over and over... he’s Dax Hardin. On one hand, knowing his true identity alone answers so many of the burning questions I’ve had over the past few days, but on the other hand,
knowing who he is just leaves me with a million more questions. Questions he doesn’t seem interested in answering.

  He makes me sit in the front of the Town Car with the driver, some big bulky guy named Paul, and he and Carl get in the back where they basically ignore me and talk in low whispers. I guess, somehow his attack and the utter trashing of my apartment are related, and although I have no idea what’s going on I do know that if the rumors about Dax Hardin are true, he’s not going to let this go. Whoever did this is either really stupid or really, really stupid.

  I try to ask a few questions about where we are going, but I don’t get more than a cold nod. I clutch the one unbroken music box in my hand and feel a small amount of comfort, but not much. Dax gave me a little time to pack a bag before we left, but I wasn’t able to gather much since my apartment had basically been turned into a warzone. He promised to send a man back to see what else could be salvaged. My clothes don’t really matter to me though, they are all remnants of a life I gave up, and frankly, most of what I own doesn’t really suit South Boston. The music box is enough.

  From my quiet spot in the front seat I text Kiki a little white lie about having a plumbing issue at the apartment and tell her that I’m staying with an old friend while it gets sorted out. Dax said he would take care of Joey and make sure I’d still have a job when all of this is over, but I have a feeling Joey won’t be too disappointed to not have to deal with me for a while.

  As we drive, I scratch Samson under his chin. He’s as grumpy as I am because although he’s sitting on my lap in the front seat of a moving car, Carl and Dax refuse to let me roll down the window so he can stick his head out. As Dax said, what’s the use of bulletproof glass if you roll the thing down? While he has a point, that reasoning doesn’t stop Samson from pouting, and maybe out of sympathy, or a little anxiety, I give Samson some extra ear scratches as we drive, to make up for it.

  We leave South Boston behind and before I know it, we’re pulling up in front of a tall, stunning skyscraper, the Century Tower. I have to crane my neck just to see the entire expanse of metal and glass. There aren’t many of these luxury skyscrapers in Boston, and this one is at least 60 floors tall. I still remember when it was built. My father had been furious. He’d lost out on the contract to some startup and I remember reading about the bad blood between him and the new company. And then something occurs to me.

  “Is this your building?” I ask as I climb out of the car and follow Dax and Carl into the lobby. A concierge nods at both men as they cross the marble floor and head toward the sleek elevator. “I mean, did you build this?”

  Dax nods. “This is one of my early projects,” he says. “I live here too.” He glances at me and frowns. I have a feeling he expected more of a reaction but wealth has never meant more than power games to me. At least I’m finally starting to understand why he and my father hate each other.

  “So, you’re going to hide me out here?”

  “In a way,” he nods.

  I glance up at him. He has that smirk on his face again. If it weren’t so goddamn sexy, I’d be annoyed out of my mind right now. “You ever heard of hiding in plain sight?” Dax asks.

  “Um, sure, but the Century Tower isn’t exactly plain sight. Unless you think whoever ransacked my place is also a billionaire who’s pissed you got the better penthouse.” Or my dad, I worry to myself, who wanted to build here first.

  Dax raises his eyebrows and Carl coughs. “What we think is that whoever came after you is under the impression you mean more to me than you actually do. We need to show them you’re just another employee. No more. No less.”

  “Do you often invite employees and their dogs to live with you? Because I feel like this plan has some major holes in it,” I say sarcastically as we ride up on the elevator.

  “Not exactly, but there are a few exceptions,” Dax says.

  I blink dumbly. My mouth had gone completely dry. “I don’t, you know, do what we did, for money or….” I turn to Carl. “I don’t know what he told you, but it wasn’t like that.”

  “Relax,” Dax chuckles. “I don’t need that type of service. And I told you, that wasn’t a regular occurrence for me. The other night was special to me. Just relax.”

  Before I can register my shock at what he just said, the elevator dings open. We step out just as the penthouse door across from the elevator swings open and the cutest, dark-haired, little girl comes bolting straight out, leaping into Dax’s arms. He effortlessly lifts her up and kisses her cheek. Behind her, an icy blonde in a tight black business dress and jacket looks at me with thinly masked suspicion and less thinly masked disdain.

  “You’re home early!” Dax says as he playfully swings the little girl.

  “Her French tutor had a cold,” the blonde woman says.

  “Quel dommage!” I say. Suddenly the entire group is looking at me in surprise.

  “It means, what a pity.” The little girl whispers.

  “Oui!” I say, smiling at the girl.

  The little girl leans into Dax’s chest and whispers in his ear. “Who is she?” Then she turns back, still clinging to him and looks at me with curiosity. I like her instantly. She has sparkling, vibrant eyes and she seems about as sweet and gentle as Dax does not. I can instantly tell that she is his daughter because they have the same black hair and something else in the eyes, sharp intelligence; she is a mini version of Dax. The only difference is that her father seems to take command of every room he to walks into, and this sweet girl seems painfully shy. Though she was affectionate and warm with her father, as soon as he sets her down, she hides behind his muscular legs. She only peeks around him when I set Samson down. He trots up to her without hesitation.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “He’s super friendly, his name is Samson.”

  “Samson,” she repeats, her voice as low as a whisper. Samson nudges her arm and she pets him gently.

  “He likes you,” I tell her.

  “He does?” she asks.

  “Mmm-hmm.” I kneel down and smile at her. “And you should know, he is an excellent judge of character.” I hold out my hand. “Hi. My name is Hannah.”

  “I’m Lily,” she says, timidly.

  “Hannah and Samson are going to be staying with us for a while,” Dax interrupts.

  The girl stops petting Samson and looks up at Dax in surprise. Her face shows none of the fear or intimidation you would expect from someone in close proximity to Dax Hardin, just curiosity. The blonde woman looks less than thrilled. More like she swallowed a lemon.

  “Hannah is going to be your new nanny,” he announces, his eyes lingering on me.

  The blonde woman finally speaks. “The new nanny?” She asks. “But I haven’t finished the interviews. And we didn’t even have someone named Hannah in the search pool….”

  “Aster,” Dax holds up his hand. “I’m sorry I kept you out of the loop on this one, but I’ve made my decision.”

  Dax gives her a sharp look and she clasps her hands together, immediately chastened, but still obviously annoyed. “Hannah, excellent. Welcome to the team.” She bites out through slightly clenched teeth.

  “Nanny, huh?” I cock my head at him. It’s actually pretty clever. I know I don’t have a choice in the matter, but I do love kids, so it’s actually a great fit. Plus, Lily seems like the sweetest little girl I’ve ever met, I instantly like her—though we’re going to need to work on getting her to speak up a bit. Kids her age are usually told to quiet down, not speak up!

  The only problem is that now I’m even more puzzled by Dax Hardin than ever. This version of him, gentle dad and rescuer of one-night stands, is softer than I could have ever imagined. I tell myself he’s just a puzzle I’m trying to solve, but I also know I’d be better off staying far away from him. Puzzles you can’t solve tend to break your heart.

  I look at the girl and smile. Samson has already flopped on his back so that Lily can give him the optimal tummy rub. “Lily,” I say, with all sincerity. “I
t’s really nice to meet you.”

  Lily smiles and I look up and catch Dax staring at me with a warmth I wasn’t expecting. His look is almost tender, but it’s gone before I can even confirm I saw it. He steps into the penthouse and motions for Aster to follow.

  Aster holds the door open as we all shuffle in, and I’m dumbfounded, the penthouse is beautiful. Stunning really. Though I am not usually impressed by luxury, I can’t help but admire the giant windows that reveal a breathtaking Boston skyline, the city twinkling in the darkness. The elegant, almost startling interior design of warm gold-toned wood contrasted against cold metal is like Dax himself. The tension of the warmth of the wood floors and custom built-in shelves and cabinets contrasting, but also accentuating the metal accents, it couldn’t be more fitting. The place feels like him, warm one moment and cold the next, all wrapped up in a beautiful package. I feel at home as soon as I step inside, just as I’d felt at home the moment he first touched me in my kitchen a few days ago.

  Aster leads us through the foyer and dining room into a formal living room. We walk past the kitchen and I see a razor-backed woman in a chef’s hat and black chef’s uniform chopping something on a cutting board. Aster stops at a small hallway to the left of the living room.

  “Your room is there,” she points to the first door. “And Lily is next to you.”

  I try to focus on Aster as she talks about water pressure and something about a key to the swimming pool, but the aroma of whatever the chef is cooking in the kitchen completely distracts me. I haven’t eaten, except for half a burger I wolfed down at work for lunch and much to my embarrassment, my stomach growls. Lily giggles.

  “You’re hungry,” Dax says.

  Like most of what Dax says, it is a statement, not a question. I turn to look at him. He has unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, revealing just a touch of his skin. It takes everything I have not to reach out and caress it.